Tick tock
pens are swaying
Over the papers
Heads down
the rooms consumed with no sound
But my pen is sleeping
And my head is dreaming  
I'm on a boat sailing
Its not my fault if I might be failing
These questions are deceving
And so what if I make money off cleaning
Then I'm stopped by the thought
Of how clear the ceiling is
Unlike How my life is crowded with mess
And How much of the teachers fault was this
counting the excuses and people to diss
My teacher
My parents
My sister
My brother
My friends
My cat
And finally
My pen
See "I" had nothing to do with it

lifeless faces
going places
around and around
the merry go round
lifeless figurines
carrying the children
around and around
as the adults stand and watch
the same old rutine
because
everyone and anyone
can notice
can tell
that the adults are not happy
when they were little
they would make wishes
at the wishing well
and then they grew up
had their own children
became something
the wishing well was filled
up with dirt along with their wishes
round and around
without any sound
the merry go round goes
but little do the children know
underneath the merry-go
is all buried wishes
lifless faces
going places
around and around
the merry go round
over and ontop the
wishing well
everyone and anyone
can notice
can tell
that this isn't living
this is hell

Why do I find myself so
Weak in your arms?
Why do I fall my knees
To the pit of your charms?
Why do I betray my thoughts
For your wicked lies?
Why do I lend my ears
To your mournful cries?
Why do I lean my
Shoulders when you weep?
Why do I stay awake
Just to watch you sleep?
Why do I feel alone
If you're not around?
Why do my feet dance
When you make a sound?
Why do I catch my breathe
While you walk my way?
Why do I see heavens
When I watch you pray?
Why do I hate myself hating love?
When you're a transcedent from up above?

Sometimes I just sit here
at my desk,
on this computer
waiting to get a message back from you

I do nothing else,
I just sit here
'cause I want an answer to something
or I just want to imagine the sound of your voice

But I know you're off eating breakfast,
or reading a good book,
or outside, or drawing,
or playing piano
even though you might not say you're off to do any of those things

Sometimes
with everything you do
as I'm sitting here
waiting to hear back from you
I almost wish
you didn't have better things to do with your time

The Beatles had Penny Lane
But all I have is an empty lane
Nothing do I hear; in my ears
Nothing do I see: in my eyes
Except for the salty tears
And the living on French fries.
Writing songs which sound out of key
But at least I’m still glad to be free
Bad verse; sure bad prose
It doesn’t matter to those
Who live with Lucy in the sky
That one with those diamonds
That helps her definitely get by
She sure captures those dumb minds
All that talk of her diamonds
Certainly never ever ends;
For nothings at the end of a Rainbow
But only Ritchie Blackmore
Who moved from Purple to vibgyor
Oh sheesh, do I have to spell it out
the colors of the Rainbow
though still no more
lingers on in mortal souls
but I just write bad verse
Bad verse; sure bad prose
It only gets worse and worse
And then they simply say,
“All you need is Love”
But I did then say
It is the loveless that seek
love that they never ever keep

It's in the journey not just the exit
It's out the window through the rush
I'll take care of you always
You don't need to ask.

Through all of the distractions
The wind blowing through our hair
All it takes is our eyes
To see you everywhere

How magnificent is your city
The beauty of creation
This is what you
For us all along

An overflow of creativity
For no one to be a like
But through love that comes from you
Together we're unified

As for human intentions
We may not be so sound
Still the glory goes to you
I can see it all around

Like a river you spirit flows
With peace, love and hope.
Through you all fear goes
And all it's chains have been broke

We were just boys. Trekking into the dense wood, we hadn't a care in the world. The rain began to fall.  Softly at first.  Our youthful tongues reached out and caught the delicate drops.  The rain fell harder - so hard it began to tear at our skin. The air became still.  The sounds of the forest ceased.  All was crystallized.  Then Hell struck.  Out of the sky, a brilliant bolt of lightning hit the tall elm to the right of us.  We all cowered in terror, knowing full well we needed to take cover, but there was none to be found. The sound was unbearable.  Trees exploded to the right and left of us, all accompanied with a ghostly white that enveloped everything around it.  I could hear Paul crying and I ran over to him.  I grabbed him by the shoulder so that we could take cover next to a large boulder.  We'd almost reached it when we were hit.  From the top of my head to the tips of my toes I felt a pain my young life had never experienced.  My shoes flew free as I was forced into a massive tree trunk.  My ears were ringing and dripping with blood.  I hurt everywhere.  Dazed, I ran over to  Paul.  He was on the ground.  He was convulsing and vomiting.  Not a regular vomit.  His insides were escaping from his mouth.  Blackened whole pieces of lung flowed forth, steaming in the rain.  He became still and his skin turned a bluish hue.  It didn't even cross my mind that he would die.  I was only fourteen.

As we fall so shall we rise
where the truth became the lies and the blue that I saw was not the blue deep in your eyes
but the shadows that played underneath azure skies
where judgements like wine
flowed from the vine and the pillars of palaces wrapped in pearl necklaces
came tumbling down.
In the time of nothing and plenty where nothing sufficed
and sacrifices were made upon the altars of Gods we no longer prayed too
and the blue that I saw was not there any more but had challenged itself to turn grey.

This was another day that I sat and waited for inspiration to come
Grey
no sun, just grey
where the lights fade away and the colours wash dry and the cry that tries to creep out from my parched lips is stripped of its sound
and no sound issues forth but a grunting (pig that I am..of course)
Then in the distance it takes for time to make its movements around the night where the aches and the pain can only be cured by (novo.'co)caine'
and in the backlots where hotshots sold cheap goods on the side
I slide deeper in the dark and by the lake within the park where the ducks have long gone to the market a song comes to mind,
(pack up your troubles in your old kit bag..)
and I find it's not that bad
it's not that great
I can take a little stress so let them try to mess with me and we'll see what we will see when I rise to find the blue becomes again the colour in your eyes and the shining from your face is the sun set in another place..yes the day has come once more
the day that I once read about and swore it was a fairy tale.
Thus again the light shines upon the madness of our times and I for one am glad
that today it doesn't seem so mad
but we shall see.